Don't Change A Thing
by M and M Works
Summary: Set in Season Six after the finale. Joey and Pacey are moving.


FF_

*~* Don't Change A Thing *~*

**by M&M Works**

_A/N: This one parter is set in Season Six after the finale. Usual disclaimer applies: we do not own the Dawson's Creek characters. Just borrowing them for a moment..._

Kneeling over the already overflowing cardboard box, he picked up the last book left from the pile by his side and wedged it roughly into what available space he could find.

"Pacey!" Joey scolded, reentering the room carrying a stack of empty boxes, her eyes on his not so handy work. "Be careful with that one; it's a favorite."

Pacey shook his head as he managed to tape the box up and smirked, "Yeah, yeah. They're _all_ your favorites."

She raised her brows, "Not true. Your comics I could do without." She dropped the boxes on the ground and dusted her hands together.

Leaning back on his haunches, palms resting on jean-clad thighs, he opened his mouth in mock horror. His voice raised an octave as he spluttered, "You told me you liked those."

She strolled over and leaned down to pinch his cheek, "You're still so cute when you're delusional." She tilted her head to one side. "Must be all the heavy furniture you've lifted today." She nodded, "Yep, lack of oxygen to the brain." With a sly grin, she patted him on the head. "Your one remaining brain cell must be tired out, poor baby," she teased.

His arms shot out and grabbed her by the waist. Quicker than she could react, he pulled her down onto his lap, the sudden maneuver causing her to squeal in protest.

"Tired out?" The heated look when his eyes captured hers immediately changed the mood in the room. He held her eyes until his attention was drawn to her mouth and, more specifically, the tip of tongue she had brought out to wet her lips. "I'll show you tired out, Potter."

"You sure?" She challenged and matched his look, her breath shortening. "Wouldn't want you strain to yourself."

Holding her firmly by the hips, he brought her flush against his own. "Only one thing that's straining on me right now."

"Hmmm… I can see that," she smiled her crooked smile, "or should I say _feel_ that?"

Her hands moved from where they had been bunching up his t-shirt to the back of his head. As they traveled upwards, her fingertips stroked his neck; when they reached their destination, she drew his head in close. "Let's see if we can do something about that, shall we?"

"Finally. Now you're talking sense," he breathed just before their lips collided.

While he shifted his hands south to her bottom and started to caress her through her jeans, she opened her mouth and invited his tongue to play.

When the need for air eventually overpowered, Pacey dragged his mouth from hers and panted in her ear, his breath hot, "Remind me again why we already packed the bed?" He flicked the shell of her ear with his tongue then blew on the wet trail he'd made, all the while his hands still hard at work – only now they were _inside_ her jeans.

"Because…," she started then moaned as the sensations he was building bubbled up and ran down her spine.

Two could play at that game, she decided, and started her own little tease.

She brought her torso in even closer, allowing her breasts to mold to the contours of his chest, and began to rock ever so slightly.

Smiling when he groaned, she brushed the downy hairs on the back of his neck with her fingers in a random pattern that ended with her massaging the tips of his ears with her thumbs.

As his eyes closed in reaction, she kissed his eyelids before moving down to whisper one on the tip of his nose.

Happy she now had his attention, she recommenced with her explanation.

"Because, the movers are due in…," not being able to resist, she briefly dropped her lips upon his, "…one hour and…," another kiss, this time she sucked his bottom lip as she drew back, pulling it with her teeth, "…we agreed…," she moved on to nuzzle his neck, causing his body to shudder this time, "…bed was too distracting…," she licked his freckle, "…had to pack it."

"Oh yeah." He shivered again. "So we did." He removed his hands from the back of her jeans, up her spine, and tunneled his fingers through her hair. "Well, right now… I'm thinking this floor is mighty distracting." He raised one eyebrow and licked his lips, awaiting her response.

She lifted her eyes to his. Then down to his tempting lips. Then back to his eyes.

Paused for a heartbeat.

Grinned.

Then nodded.

And once again their mouths crushed together, this time their bodies following suit as Pacey pulled them all the way to the floor with Joey resting on top.

Just as they were reaching for each other's clothes, the phone rang.

Pacey pulled back just far enough so he could speak. "Ignore it."

His lips stretched toward hers, but her hands on his shoulders held him back. "We can't." She bit her lip. "It could be the movers."

"Movers?" He joked, trying – and almost succeeding – to distract her with his tongue in her ear again. "We have movers coming?"

"Pacey," shemoaned, the scruff on his chin grazed her skin causing her to tremble, "I-I have to get that." She gave him a regretful look before pulling away again.

He swore under his breath. "Yeah, okay," he sighed a noisy breath. "But we are picking this up where we left off. Soon."

She smiled as he helped her to re-adjust her tangled t-shirt. "Agreed. Although, you know we do still have a lot of boxes to pack. You may want to save your strength to christen our new place."

He pulled them both up to standing. "You're the only one that will need to rest by the time I'm finished with you, Jo."

"Promises, promises." Turning to head toward the hallway to answer the phone, she glared back when he slapped her butt as she walked away.

Chuckling at his far too innocent face, she was about to leave the room when she paused in the doorway. She hesitated then pointed over to the chest of drawers in the far corner. "Um. Why don't you start clearing out those drawers next?"

He looked over at them and shrugged his shoulders amicably. "'Kay. If you want."

She tucked her hair behind her ear. "Start with the bottom drawer."

He blinked once. "Why? What difference does it make?"

"The bottom one, Pace." Her tone left no room for discussion.

He held up his hands, aware the phone had been ringing for a while and the caller may hang up, meaning their interruption would have been for nothing. "Okay, okay." Then he pointed in the direction of the hall. "Phone, woman."

Pacey watched as she hurried out the room before discreetly adjusting himself, then turned on his heel and headed over to the drawers. "I swear, borderline OCD that one," he muttered under his breath.

"I heard that!" Joey shouted back from the next room as she picked up the phone.

"Sure, _that _she hears." He laughed quietly to himself, shaking his head. "But when I ask her to help me take out the trash, she claims I never did."

Grabbing an empty box and some bubble wrap on his way, he dropped them next to the chest of drawers. He smiled mischievously then bent down to open the middle drawer.

"I said, bottom one first, Pacey!" Joey called out, then went back to her conversation on the phone.

He opened his eyes wide. "How the hell does she do that?" he mumbled.

Dropping his shoulders, he smiled. Just one of the many things he loved about her – she always kept him on his toes; that and the fact she knew him so well.

Speaking of things he loved…

"…_our new place._"

Those three little words sure had a nice ring to them.

He hiked up his jeans and sat down on the floor, his sneakers squeaking a little on the polished wood as he got comfortable. When he opened the bottom drawer and began to empty the contents, the reality of what they were doing today set in.

And he couldn't be happier about it.

They'd been living together now for, what was it, going on nine months? Yeah, nine months. Wow, had it really been that long? On the one hand it seemed like only yesterday he'd made the first trip here soon after Jen's funeral; on the other it was as though they'd always been living together.

Not that they'd moved in together straight away, mind you. No, that didn't happen for a good two months after they'd gotten back together. After all, almost five years had gone by without them seeing each other except for the odd occasion here and there; they had a lot of years to catch up on.

And, more importantly, both had their reasons for not wanting to rush into things.

Pacey was well aware Joey was coming out of a serious relationship; he wanted to make sure he wasn't the rebound guy - that Christopher was most definitely out of the picture - and that their decision to get back together wasn't some knee-jerk reaction based on the events of Jen's funeral stirring up old memories and the need for happier times.

Joey wanted similar things: to be clear in her mind that Pacey and she wanted the same things _and_ that Pacey's menus were well and truly finalized - such that a certain married woman who had been "helping" him with them wasn't going to continue her drop-in sessions at the restaurant.

Basically, they both wanted this so much, they didn't want anything to mess it up.

So they'd waited on the living situation but not on the dating one. They'd started that up straight away, doing the whole long-distance boyfriend/girlfriend thing.

At first the routine worked such that on the weekends Joey didn't come to Capeside, Pacey headed to New York as soon as the Icehouse closed on a Saturday night. Though he was exhausted after working and then driving, they'd spend most Sunday mornings in bed anyway. Luckily, Pacey could stay in New York until Tuesday mornings as the Icehouse was closed on Mondays.

Within a few months, Pacey felt comfortable enough to leave his two assistant managers to cover most weekdays so he spent even more time in New York. But since the Icehouse was at its busiest on the weekends, he didn't feel comfortable leaving its management to his staff. Besides the personal touch with his customers was what made them regulars.

They'd both agreed that the Icehouse was something he shouldn't sell, which was a good thing, as he didn't think he could have let it go.

It meant too much, to both of them.

Being separated from Joey on the weekends she wasn't in Capeside was hard and being in New York during the week while she was working was frustrating. Finally the pain of separation was greater than the fear of any reservations they may have had and neither could remember why they were waiting to live together in the first place.

It just felt right.

So over the next few trips he made to New York, Pacey brought boxes of stuff from his Capeside apartment until he'd finally moved all his prized possessions such as his comic book collection, classic rock vinyls, and his skates.

And they hadn't looked back.

Well, okay. Strictly speaking that wasn't entirely true. Let's just say that, even though they'd been good and waited, there had still been some teething problems in the beginning and a few bumps in the road; and well a little – okay, actually _a lot_ – of fighting.

Twice involved him sleeping in the bathtub. Okay, okay. _Three_ times.

But they'd gotten through it. Together.

Surprisingly, Dawson actually helped them through one of their uglier arguments. He'd come from LA to visit them for the weekend, and walked into Witter-Potter World War Number Thirty-Three. After attempting to hear both sides of the story and the reason for said war, – which was all to do with a carrot and a broccoli stick (yeah, you really don't want to know – but Pacey still felt it was Joey's fault the carrot got there in the first place) – Dawson finally got them to step away from the vegetables and focus on the root of the actual issue.

This was that Pacey felt guilty he couldn't spend all of his time here in New York with Joey, and he was worried she might think he was letting her down in some way for the nights they couldn't spend together. And Joey felt guilty that she was taking Pacey away from his business and his love of cooking and that he would resent her for that.

These fears had manifested themselves to the point the two of them were snapping at each other over silly things - in this case, veggies - as a way to express their emotions.

Long story short, they'd talked it out after Dawson left (who, by the way, went on to "borrow" that real-life food fight incident as an idea for his show - they were still waiting on the royalties for that, and all the other story ideas Dawson had "borrowed" from their lives over the years).

And, once they'd both reassured the other that they didn't think or feel that way - and Joey guaranteed to Pacey that she really did like carrots - _then_ they hadn't looked back.

Thursday night five weeks ago was the reason for Pacey's current happy mood. Joey told him she'd gotten a job offer with a firm in Boston, and that she was going to take it. It was a much better position than what she had here in New York, both salary and career-wise; she'd work as an editor, like now, but also have the opportunity to illustrate books.

At first, although proud and pleased for her, he'd been reluctant that she take the position and tried to talk her out of it. He knew she loved New York and thought she was rushing things, taking the offer only because it was closer to Capeside which meant he wouldn't have to travel so far.

When he told her this, she finally followed through with something she'd threatened to do for years – she bopped him on the head. Hard.

She told him she wasn't putting him first – of course he was a factor, that went without saying; only now she was putting _them_ first.

He smiled softly as he remembered her words, "_Haven't we already covered the part why you don't need to ask me why or when I'm ready to do something?_"

But being Joey, she'd explained her reasons to him anyway.

He laughed to himself, thinking something he could never say out loud and remain injury- free - she still never got tired of talking.

She insisted she was indeed ready to leave New York. She loved it here, but she realized she'd been restless too - waiting for the right time to return to the Cape. And that right time, she'd discovered, was when he was back in her life, so they could go back together.

Now he was back. There was no need to wait anymore.

Another big reason was she wanted them to have a place that was theirs; a place that was new to the both of them. One in which neither had lived before, where they could spend all their nights together and never be apart again.

Then she showed him the brochure she'd printed off the net of a little cottage in need of repair, located pretty much half way between her new office and the Icehouse. It was on the edge of a creek, the natural twists and turns in the banks making the house look like an island in the middle of the water. Her eyes literally sparkled as she held up the papers for him to see.

"_This is it, Pace. This is our home. I just know it." _

Immediately he'd felt it, too.

They'd made the offer on the house there and then. And it was accepted.

Which brought them to today.

Moving day.

He stopped short as he realized what he was packing into the box. This was the drawer in which Joey kept all their keepsakes and photographs. And in his hand he held a framed photograph.

One of the Capeside gang, the whole gang. Including a healthy looking Jen.

He focused on her smiling image captured in time, his eyes misting as he fought through the pain that overcame him every time he thought of his dear, late friend; the pain that didn't go away even if it had gotten easier to bear over the past months.

God, he missed her.

He carefully placed the picture into the box using some bubble wrap to protect the glass.

A few weeks after they'd gotten back together, he'd confided in Joey the promise he'd made to Jen before she'd passed; that Saturday nights had his and Amy's name written all over them.

Joey had reacted immediately and almost had them out the door to go and visit Amy - feeling terrible that she'd monopolized so much of his time he hadn't been able to follow through with his promise - before Pacey could blink.

But he'd quickly reassured her that he had a plan; he was going to keep his promise of quality time by having Doug drop Amy off at the Icehouse on Wednesday afternoons, the slowest day there.

Which he had done, never missing one week.

Now that they were moving closer to Capeside, Joey and he had agreed that Monday nights would become Amy nights. They'd baby-sit for Jack and Doug, to allow them their own quality time, albeit of a much different variety.

Joey had grown very close to Amy over the months, and not just because she was Jen's little girl. Mostly because no one could resist that little girl; one look in her blue eyes and you were hers.

Joey knew all too well what it was like to grow up without a mother, and she'd had many more years than Amy had with Jen; she didn't want Amy to not know her mom. So in her spare time, Joey had used her talents to create a children's storybook for Amy – the story of Jen.

The book told the tale of how Jen came to Capeside, how they all eventually became friends, and most importantly how much Jen loved her daughter. She'd even drawn sketches here and there of Jen and the gang, based on actual photographs.

Although her main driving force had been to create something special for Amy, Pacey knew the process of developing the book had helped Joey through her private grieving process and turn it into something positive.

He smiled proudly as he thought about what his girl had created. It really was very beautiful. Amy never went to sleep now without someone reading from it.

Pausing briefly to scratch his nose, he smiled further as he focused on the next item he pulled out the drawer. It was a very old glow-in-the-dark glow ring, which judging by the state of it no longer glowed in the dark. He was amazed, and a little touched, that Joey had kept it all these years. A lot of their "stuff", like their book and mementos from their summer trip, had been lost when the _True Love_ sunk. So he was moved she'd held onto this.

After placing it in the box along with the photographs, he stretched to the very back of the drawer to take out the last item. It was a white cardboard box, about the size of two shoeboxes. Lost in thought, he almost didn't see the label on the front, which held his name and instructions for him to open immediately.

He frowned and double-checked the instructions. Open immediately? What was Joey up to? A moving gift?

Like a little boy under the Christmas tree, his tongue peeking out between his teeth, he couldn't resist the obligatory shake to see if he could guess what was inside. It wasn't heavy and it didn't rattle. More like a dull thud as something slid from side to side.

Unable to resist the suspense anymore, he placed his hands on the sides of the box and lifted the lid.

OK, back to the frowning.

PJs? She'd gotten him PJs? And _lilac_ ones at that. Dotted with purple and white stars and yellow moons.

He rubbed his chin. What on Earth?

His eyes opened wide. Hang on a minute - these were _women's_ PJs!

Now, he was more than willing to entertain an odd fantasy here and there, like any hot-blooded American male, but this was _way_ too much. Even Dougie wouldn't be caught dead in women's clothing.

He lifted the PJs, further confused when he saw oversized fluffy sheep slippers hidden underneath, each with a red flower on their right ear.

What the fu-?

And then he remembered where and when he'd last seen these exact items of clothing. He removed one of the slippers and couldn't help but grin. She'd sure looked cute in them that night.

Then again, to him she looked cute in anything. Or nothing at all.

As he took the second slipper out of the box, something white fell out from inside it and fluttered to the floor.

A piece of paper. Covered with printed text.

Putting both slippers back in the box, he retrieved the item. After unfolding it, he held it up to his face. As his eyes scanned the first sentence, he smiled softly.

Damn, she'd kept her promise after all. She'd written them a letter. He glanced at the date, working it out in his head to be roughly a few weeks before she'd left for Paris.

_To the Manager of Kmart, Head Office_

_Dear Sir,_

_I'm sure this letter will come as a surprise to you, as no doubt you're more used to getting a complaint letter than one of this nature. But I had to write this._

_A few months ago, a close friend and I – well, let me rephrase that. I wouldn't call him a close friend. Don't get me wrong, he is a friend. But calling him just that doesn't seem… enough._

_He's so much more than a friend to me, but at the same time I don't know what to call him right now._

_There was once a time in my life where I wouldn't have hesitated to define our relationship: he was my boyfriend, my confidante, my lover, my biggest supporter, my best friend. My everything._

_Now? Now, I don't know, which I guess is the gist of my problem. I don't know how to fit into his life or vice versa._

_But, I digress. Let's just call this person "Bubba" for now, to protect the names for legal reasons – not that what we did was wrong, let me hasten to add, as it wasn't. It wasn't our fault that we got locked into your store that night (no matter what Bubba says about my weak bladder). We tried to get the attention of the security guard and we called the police to report our dilemma. So we did everything we could. Plus we did pay for the goods we used…_

_You know what? Rereading the start to this letter I realize it's a little jumbled, isn't it? So to summarize, a few weeks ago Bubba and I got locked into one of your Kmart stores in Boston, Mass. And my reason for writing to you is not to complain or to ask for compensation. It's the opposite._

_I wanted to thank you for making one girl's dream come true and indirectly giving me one of the best nights of my life. You gave me Bubba back – not that he'd actually gone anywhere. It only seemed so._

_The… amnesia, I guess you could call it, that I'd been suffering from for almost two years passed and… I saw him again, and remembered._

_Every last detail was brought to the forefront of my mind, no longer pushed to the back of it - just what it could be like with him; how perfect it all could be._

_I even told him about this fantasy I'd had on a sailing trip we'd taken one summer where we were castaways on a desert island, and how this night had brought that dream to light._

_I bet you're sitting in front of your fancy desk reading this letter thinking that we lived happily ever after, right? After all, this is the stuff of fairytales. High school sweethearts, break up, get locked into a superstore over night, and rekindle their romance._

_Well you'd be wrong. I screwed it all up._

_After we eventually left your store, I ran away. From him, from us._

_Don't get me wrong, I wasn't lying when I said that I remembered how perfect it all could be. Because I did. Only, I remembered how quickly it could all go wrong, too._

_More importantly, how the mistakes I made ruined it all. And, as much as we'd agreed to not let our prior offensives hold us back and look into our future - as much as I wanted to believe that we could say that and mean it - I was afraid._

_Have you ever read Charlotte Bronte's poems? I'm sure you're a very busy man, so maybe you haven't, but there is one quote that has always resonated with me:_

**_"The human heart has hidden treasures; in secret kept, in silence sealed; the thoughts, the hopes, the dreams, the pleasures; whose charms are broken if revealed."_**

_That fantasy I mentioned? At the time I'd envisioned it we needed a refuge from all the angst in the town we lived. A place where we could just be us, two people in love._

_Now, years later, none of those same problems existed. I realized a few days after the lock in, sharing my fantasy out loud with Bubba changed my viewpoint of it. It burst the bubble in a way; we didn't need a symbolic beach island somewhere in the tropics to hide away from the world. We could have something even better._

_Now the possibility existed that we could turn to each other for refuge when the storms hit._

_Only I didn't feel it – and by "it" I mean feel worthy, of the shelter his love could provide. What I did feel was scared that I wouldn't be enough for him anymore. That this image he had of me when we were previously together, when things were going so well, wasn't who I was right now._

_He was so ready for our future together, that this was it - and all I could feel was afraid. Afraid that he was right._

_But how could it be it already when I still don't know who I am?_

_And until I do, how can I be sure I won't hurt him again and break his heart – not intentionally, never intentionally – but I seem to anyway._

_So, like I said, I ran. To protect him from me, I pushed him away._

_Ironic isn't it that I ended up breaking his heart anyway._

_You'd think that surely I would have told him of my fears and worries, and we'd have worked it out. But see, we don't tend to do things that way, he and I. No, instead we work through our insecurities on our own first._

_I'm not saying that this is the right thing to do, because it isn't. And I hope more than anything in the world that the day will come when I'll feel ready enough to share these fears with him._

_Only right now, I don't._

_I simply know I need to live life on my own for a little while longer so I can discover who I am; I need to take my solo trip on foreign soil, like he once did._

_Please understand, it was never the question of whether I loved him. No, lack of love was never the issue between us. The issue is always me and my fears._

_Shoes. They are funny old things, aren't they? Can't live with them at times - especially the high-heeled variety - and can't live without them. That night started with us going to a work dinner, where at one point I lost my high-heel shoes. He later gave me some slippers, comfortable shoes designed for someone who wants to stay put and settle in._

_But currently this Cinderella has an unhealthy fondness for your running shoe department. My natural proclivity is to run, usually away from things rather than to them. I know this, but I don't know how to change that._

_I won't give the slippers back to him. I can't, as right now they are the only things I have left of him – of our perfect night together._

_So, I'm going to keep them until the day arrives when I'm ready to trade in my running shoes and wear them again._

_I've always known in my heart that he and I are meant to be together. Why? Well, there are certain people that you keep coming back to, and for me Bubba is that person._

_I'm just waiting for the time when I'll be ready to stop running and finally stay with him._

_And hopefully I'll be lucky enough that he'll still want me when that day comes and we get our happily ever after ending after all._

_Which brings me to a favor I would like to ask you, Mr. Kmart Manager: your store is perfect just the way it is._

_Don't change a thing._

_So when the day does come when it makes no sense to keep running and I've beaten my fears, I'll be able to find my way back._

_Only this time Bubba and I will be each other's island._

_Thank you._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Joey Potter_

_PS: I highly recommend the security guard, Lucia the cashier, and George the assistant for a raise. They all played their part in making a dream come true._

Pacey lifted his head as he felt her hand on his shoulder, her touch tentative, and turned to look where she was kneeling behind him.

After a moment he spoke, his voice soft and emotional. "You never sent it."

She gently shook her head, "It was never meant to be read by anyone but you" and then added, "I wanted to give it to you right after I wrote it…" She paused and clasped her hands together in her lap. "…but I didn't think it was fair, to you, to make promises which at that moment in my life I wasn't sure I could keep."

Her eyes searched his for a long time waiting for him to say something more. When he didn't, she broke the silence.

"I didn't want the letter to bring back painful memories or mean for it to pick at old scabs, I just..." she started then stopped, letting out a deep breath. He shifted round so they were facing each other, knees touching.

She looked over at the box containing the PJs and slippers. "You know, I never wore those again? I kept them all these years hidden away in my closet. Along with that letter."

She raised her eyes to his, which hadn't left her face. "But I never for one moment considered throwing them away. I kept them, because as long as I did, as long as I still had them… the hope was still alive. The hope that we'd get to where we are…" She lifted her hand and stroked his face, "…here. Right now.

"I wanted you to see that letter now, on the day we move into our new home, so you'll know there's no doubt in my heart or mind about us or where we're headed.

"That even when we were apart, I was hoping for this day to arrive. True, I may have been running so hard for so long that I lost sight of my goal for a while. But deep down in my heart I never gave up on trying to reach it.

"How could I?" Her eyes grew glassy with moisture, "I mean, it's _you_. It's always been you. You were my finish line.

"I meant what I said in the letter; that night was a dream come true for me."

She lifted one corner of her mouth. "But this…" She placed her hand on his heart, "…what we have right now is _the_ dream, Pace. It's better than any fantasy I could have dreamt.

"I don't think I've ever told you this out loud – it's been in every kiss I've given you these past months, in every laugh, in every smile, every fight, every time we make love, every time we simply touch – but I'm saying it now.

"Thank you, Pacey.

"For never letting me off the hook. For waiting for me and giving me the time I needed to discover who I am; someone who loves you with everything inside her."

She tipped her chin at the PJs and grinned. "Admit it. You thought those were for you to wear, didn't you?"

The sheepish look he gave her was enough of an answer.

"Well, you can't have them. Not when I'm finally ready to wear them again."

Throughout her speech, he had watched her quietly with a smile on his face - one which had steadily grown in size.

As always with Miss Potter, she hadn't had to tell him these things, he had known. He'd known it since the day in the Icehouse kitchen, after she'd come back to finish their conversation.

The day she had stopped running for good.

But it was always nice to hear her voice the words, too.

He cleared his throat and made a quick swipe at the corner of his eye. "What those old things?" He joked. "Surely we can get you some new ones; upgrade to bunny slippers perhaps?"

"Not on your life! I'm not trading these babies in." She reached behind her and picked up a package. With a shy look she handed it over to Pacey. "This is for you."

"Wow," he breathed a laugh, hoping she didn't see his hands shake. "This really is a day for presents isn't it?"

He tentatively tore open the paper and pulled the item out.

Boxers. Lilac ones with sheep and stars on them.

She grinned again as he laughed out loud. "Now you have your own, too. It's not a perfect match, I know," she explained as she reached over and picked up her PJs and held them up next to the boxers, "but it kinda works, don't you think?"

He pulled her into his arms, "That it does. I'm most definitely a fan of the mismatched and dysfunctional." He dropped a soft kiss on her lips and whispered, "Thank you, sweetheart."

His eyes did the talking, thanking her for the boxers, letter, explanation, her thanks to him - and most of all for being the person she was, for finding her way back to them and loving him just as much as he loved her.

"Welcome." She pressed their foreheads together.

"How about… on our way to the house we swing by that old Kmart?" He suggested. "You know, see if anything's changed? Maybe George finally got a raise."

She pulled back to see his smiling eyes. "I'd like that."

"Only this time, we stop for bathroom breaks before we get there." He jiggled her playfully in his arms. "Just to be safe."

She pinched his arm lightly. "That won't be necessary if youlet me park our car in a place where everyone can see it."

"Oh ho ho…" he said slowly, "first of all, no violence, Jo. You know it only gets you excited," he laughed as he dodged her crab-like fingers.

"Secondly, there's no way you're driving. Do we need to relive the fiasco of the last time you did?"

He spoke over her as she tried to dispute that said fiasco wasn't her fault. "I didn't think so. And finally, what did you call it, _our_ car?" He pursed his lips. "Hmm… I seem to remember the other day it being _my _car, right about the time you said it needed an oil change. Funny that."

She kept her face blank. "I remember no such thing. There it goes again, Pace, your one brain cell acting delusional. You should really get that looked at."

"That's _Bubba_ to you, missy." He corrected.

She raised her brows and smiled. "Oh, you like that name, do ya?"

He rolled his eyes and gave her body the once over. "But names aside, if anything needs to be looked at it's you. By me. And right now, I'd like to see you in those PJs."

"Well," she entwined her arms around his neck, "it just so happens that _was_ the movers on the phone earlier and they are going to be a little late… so that could be arranged."

"Huh, how convenient." He began to nuzzle her neck.

She stroked his hair. "Yes, it is, isn't it?" When he raised his head she locked eyes with him. "Don't you just love it when everything works out in the end?"

"I certainly do." He reverently tucked a lock of hair behind her ear before running his thumb across her cheek.

As always, when she smiled that crooked grin as she was now, it warmed his heart like the sun on a summer's day; her eyes brighter than any star at night and as big as the moon; her skin as soft as a white sandy beach; her laughter igniting his own quicker and stronger than any match could to a fire.

No, he'd never needed a tropical beach with a campfire, or a starry night and full moon.

He'd had all of that right here in his arms all along. She was his fantasy and reality all rolled into one.

He leaned in for a kiss and whispered, "I wouldn't change a thing."

*~* **THE END ***~*


End file.
